


Baby, I'll Bleed You Dry

by ViolentAddict



Series: Omegaverse Holmes [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Hopefully this is sexy, John Watson/Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Just to Get the Creative Juices Flowing, M/M, One Shot, PWP, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Title Makes it sound like a vampire novel, a/b/o dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:52:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5191172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentAddict/pseuds/ViolentAddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on an A/B/O prompt on Tumblr, but with my own twist.</p>
<p>Sherlock is an omega who's been posing as an alpha all along, thanks to these special pills, but when he loses them he is faced with a serious heat. Unequipped to handle it, he enlists the help of Watson, who is eager to help, because after all, what are friends for? ;)</p>
<p>This is a one shot.</p>
<p>Title taken from "Closer" by Kings of Leon</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, I'll Bleed You Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who has supported me with my fics. I appreciate it so much! 
> 
> I want to thank my beta Ranger for the much needed help and for inspiring me with her amazing song choices. 
> 
> I am still working on Heaven Sent, I just needed to take a break from it for a little while to get my creative juices flowing again. :D
> 
> Hopefully you all like this story!

 

_“I drink the honey inside your hive_

_You are the reason I stay alive”_

_-“Closer” Nine Inch Nails_

 

     Sherlock Holmes is not a man who panics. He is a man of few emotions and even fewer facial expressions. He may run his fingers through his shameless mop of dark hair, he may frown, he may even huff, but he does not panic.

    Especially not at the moment when he realized that he could not find any of his tablets.  Certainly not. Because there is no way that he could lose them. That would be a very negligent thing to do.

    So he tears his room apart again in search of the infernal things. And once again, his efforts prove futile.

_This is not good, Sherlock..._ he tells himself. And it isn’t good, not in the slightest bit. Those tablets keep help to stabilize his body, they help him to pass as an alpha. He had just gotten a renewed month’s supply, where could they be?

     And then he remembers; one night, in a fit of intoxicated excitement where one feels as if one is on top of the world thanks to consuming massively unhealthy amounts of drugs, he had thrown the damn things out of the window and down to the London streets below. He had thought that he wouldn’t need them. After all, he had posed as an alpha most of his life, surely he should have been passable by now.

    In fact, Sherlock had posed for so long, he had actually forgotten what it was like to be an omega. Except for the few unpleasant memories of being taunted and vilified for his status, and then his brother urging him to go on the pills in order to be at ease, he really didn’t remember much about being one.

    Even Watson, as astute as the doctor is, never is none the wiser. Sherlock passes so well that no one dares to question it.

    So, truly, there’s no need for him to panic.

    With a smile on his face he returns to bed, ignoring the state of the now messy room in favor of catching up on some much needed sleep.

* * *

 

    “Good day, Holmes.” Watson greets him when they meet at Scotland Yard to find Detective Lestrade.

     “Ahh Watson,” Sherlock can’t help but smile at his friend. “It is good to see you!”

    Watson grins. “Is it now? You certainly weren’t feeling compelled to tell me that yesterday when I was scolding you for the state of your room.”

     Sherlock shrugs. “But of course! I couldn’t expect anything less from my Mother Hen,” Then with a grumble. “Now, where's that damned man so we can get this case over with? I’m not feeling my best today.”

    Watson narrows his eyes, scrutinizing. “What ails you, Holmes?”

     Sherlock frowns. “The usual, Watson; disdain, boredom, apathy, and now for some strange reason, I feel...impatience.”

     “I hope you are sleeping well.”

     Sherlock is about to reply that in fact, he isn’t sleeping very well, but he decides to tell Watson that at another time, as Lestrade has appeared and is giving them the briefing.

* * *

_Two Days Later_

    They are on the case, in disguise, in an alpha infested slum, when he feels it; a cramp tearing through his lower abdomen.

   He tries to ignore it but then several attack him at once and he has to clutch his midsection, doubling over in pain.

    Watson immediately comes to his side. “Holmes?” He whispers.

   Sherlock takes in a deep breath. “I’m fine, Watson.” But even to him, it sounds like a lie.

   “Eh, what’s his problem?” An alpha thug, one of the many in the gang they’ve been sent to infiltrate, asks.

    Watson raises a hand to stop him from coming closer. “I’m sure it’s fine. Leave him be, eh.” He says in his own imitation cockney.

     “I need-” Sherlock manages to blurt out.

     “What Holmes? What do you need?”  Watson whispers in his ear, out of earshot from the other alphas who are too busy trying to smuggle the rare artifacts onto a ship to really notice that something’s not right.

    But Sherlock cannot speak anymore as the pain has just become too much. His pupils dilate and soon it’s like someone flipped a switch, because suddenly his awareness has increased a hundredfold.

    He smells it; a heady, musky smell that is so overwhelming he has to catch his breath to steady himself.

    It seems to be coming from everywhere. He can smell it, and the more he takes in, the less his cramps hurt. So, as an act of self-preservation, he takes in lungfuls of the scent.

    Amongst the slightly pleasant musky scent, there’s one that awakens something within him. It’s _good_ , _strong, virile_ like citrus and cinnamon. Much better than the rest. He can’t quite place where it’s coming from as he’s getting bombarded by the other almost generic, piquant smell. _What is happening to him?_

    Finally, gaining the strength to stand, he turns, leaning most of his weight on Watson who hasn’t stopped hovering, he turns to the room of alphas to find that they are all staring at him.

    “Umm, right. Where were we?”

    The head man, an alpha by the name of Oscar, narrows his eyes and grins shark-like. “Didn’t know we had an omega in our midst, now did we?”

    Sherlock shrugs. “I know of no omega for which you speak.” He can sense the danger, he just can’t really place it. Surely, they cannot be talking about him. _He’s_ passable, right?

    Curious, he turns to Watson who is peering at him in both shock and confusion. His brow furrows at the doctor, feeling both annoyed and tired, wishing that this day would just be over with.

    Then the smell returns, but it is coupled with that deliciously virile cinnamon and citrus aroma, and soon he finds an uncomfortable feeling in his pants; they’ve suddenly become wet, very wet.

    It certainly is strange, but before he can ponder on it anymore, Watson is practically dragging him out of the building and out to the street away from the hungry alphas. The alphas break into a sprint and Watson runs faster, holding Sherlock’s collar and dragging him along with it.

    Everywhere they turn there are alphas, more and more alphas. Sherlock is getting dizzy now.

   When it seems as if all hope is lost, Watson finds an empty alleyway and declares it a decent place to rest.

   “God Holmes! Why didn’t you tell me you were an omega? All this time…” Watson is breathless and his blue eyes are shining with frustration, curiosity and maybe even a hint of hurt.

   “I didn’t-didn’t know whether or not I could trust you. Forgive me, I was just being cautious.” Sherlock takes in more breaths of air, trying to stop his lungs from burning.

    Watson frowns. “Why? Is it because I’m an alpha? Holmes that isn’t ever going to change the way I feel about you and I would never do anything to hurt you, regardless of your status.” Suddenly, Watson pulls him in for a hug.

   The spicy scent fills his nostrils again and Sherlock groans, instinctively holding Watson tighter.

   “I appreciate that Watson, and believe me, you have proved to be a most invaluable companion. But-but…” He doesn’t say anything else as the world suddenly turns black.

* * *

     Sherlock wakes up in a hospital bed. His head feels lighter and his heart keeps beating, faster and faster, beyond his control. He looks around and sees Watson sitting in a chair across from him.

   “What happened?” He utters, and Watson rises, smiling in relief.

    “Well, Old Cock, you fainted,” Then the smile fades into a concerned pout. “They say you’ve suppressed your omega tendencies for so long that it just completely overwhelmed you. And well…” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable but trying not to show it.

   Sherlock presses, “And?”

   “And you’re in heat.” Watson admits sternly.

   He feels the blood leave his face. He couldn't ever remember being in heat, maybe because he started the pills from so young. “How long?”

  “For a few days now. They recommend you let it pass. Just bear with it, no matter how hard it seems.”

****

* * *

   Sherlock doesn’t know how long it’d been, and he’s probably ashamed of this, but the second the doctors told him that he was allowed to go and he and Watson had reached the lodging safely. He saw that Watson was about to leave and seeing that the only person he’d choose to help him through this infernal heat was the Good Doctor, he pounced.

   As Sherlock thinks about it, it didn’t take long for them to get to this; Sherlock bent over, arse exposed as Watson pounds into him, cock plunging smoothly like a hot knife gliding through butter.

    But he can’t say that he’s particularly upset about the change in circumstances, in fact as he feels his third orgasm plummeting through his body for the night, he can’t help but feel delighted.

   And he definitely isn’t upset over the claiming mark now branded into his flesh by Watson’s teeth. Or the fact that the whole room now smells of honey and cinnamon, or the fact that the knot currently tying them together feels so _right._

   No. It certainly is pleasant, and as Watson’s knot finally releases them, and the doctor doesn’t leave but instead wraps his arms around Sherlock, with his gentle breathing ghosting his ear, Sherlock is rather pleased with these circumstances and thinks, that maybe, being an out omega won’t be so bad after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it and if you did please kudos and/or leave a comment, but only if you want to. ;)


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